


A Rose By Any Other Name

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-27
Updated: 2008-02-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: My response to the Birds and the Bees Challenge.  Valentine's Day always brings such high expectations, sometimes heart-breaking results and even some surprises.  This was one such day.





	A Rose By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Thank you Indie for your terrific beta job, as usual!

 

 

* * *

 

Who knows when it actually began or who started it, there’s even a question as to why, but it has become a tradition at Hogwarts.  And, just like more familiar traditions, it became an expected, anticipated and soon, cherished event as the student body aged and learned to appreciate it for what it was.  A part of the school’s culture, it was the embodiment of ritual, commemoration and a true form of the right of passage for many young people.  A time to acknowledge your friends, thank your professors and foster new or firmer relationships. All with a simple flower.

 

Hermione was reminded of it today, as she stood in her kitchen, reading a letter and feeding the Hogwarts owl who delivered it.  The parchment, written in her daughter’s eleven year-old script, brought back many memories from her days at Hogwarts.  She couldn’t help but notice the discolored circles that dotted the parchment, occasional smears against the ink.  Rose’s tears.

 

She settled at the kitchen table to read.

 

_Dear Mum,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while.  Classes have been busy, but manageable.  I have an essay due for History of Magic on Tuesday.  It’s my favorite class.  There’s even a section in the history book about you, Dad and Uncle Harry.  Sometimes the other kids stare at me when they hear my last name, but I don’t mind.  I’m proud of all of you._

_Thank you for the lovely book.  I saw the note inside about my name.  Poor Romeo and Juliet.  It’s very sad, isn’t it?_   

Hermione smiled, noting the similarities between her daughter and herself.  However, the next sentence surprised her.

 

_Mum, how do you know if a boy likes you?  Or, if you like him, how do you let him know?  We had the Valentine’s Day celebration today and I got a nice note from Victoire and even Teddy, but not from the only boy who mattered.  Why do they have to be so disagreeable?  Boys, I mean.  They have this annoying habit of being intentionally rude and obnoxious and even though you try to be civil and polite, they ignore you and call you names._ _He says that I’m a half-blood, like that’s something to be embarrassed about, but I’m not!_

 

The large smear at the end of this sentence emphasized her daughter’s troubled heart regarding the subject, but she continued.

 

_You see, this one boy, the one I like, he’s more than half and I wonder if he’ll like me if I’m only half.  I sent him a flower for Valentine’s Day, but he threw it in the rubbish bin!_

_Daddy didn’t act like this, did he?  Tell Daddy that I got the rose and it’s sitting in a vase next to my bed.  Tell him I love him.  He’s better than any of these immature boys!_

Daddy’s Rose, indeed.  Hermione’s heart smiled at the large bouquet of white roses, tipped with red that had arrived just an hour earlier.  The note hanging from a red satin ribbon – _To my dearest ‘Mione.  Happy Valentine’s Day, Love_.  It was his signature gift, always two dozen for her and one for his Rose.  Her focus returned to the letter.

_My roommate, Bridget Finnigan, is really nice.  She wants to braid my hair tonight so, I’m going to close._

_Please write back.  I miss you and Dad and all the family and I hope to see you soon._

_Happy Valentine’s Day!_

_Love,_

_Rose_

With a mother’s tenderness, her thumb grazed over the smeared word, hoping to wipe the traces of those tears from the parchment and ease a bit of her daughter’s pain.

 

“Mummy!”  Hugo’s footsteps filled the narrow hall, thundering playfully toward her.  “When is Daddy going to be home?”

 

“Not long, dear.  Did you finish your homework?” She eyed her youngest, knowing full well his predilection for procrastination.

 

“Almost.  I just have a little more to do,” he lied.

 

“You know, when you get to Hogwarts you’ll have to be responsible for getting your work done.  Mummy and Daddy won’t be there to remind you.  So, you should get in the habit of doing it now.”

 

“I know,” he whined.  “But Daddy promised we’d build the boat tonight.”  His eager little face shone bright with anticipation.

 

“And I’m sure you will… _after_ you finish your homework.”

 

“Alright.”  He turned and nearly stomped down the hall.  He was so like his father, it was scary.  She could almost picture the back of her then eleven-year-old Ron trudging down the hall toward class.  
  


Once more scanning the letter, her thoughts formulated a reply.  Now full of peace and security, Hermione’s own heart struggled to remember what it was like to be eleven and searching for that first flutter.  Hoping to experience the sensation of fancy, the tickle of attraction and then the heart-fulfilling and sometimes heart-breaking awareness of love.

 

What advice could she give her daughter?  Rose was so self-assured, confident in her own decisions and usually wanting to find her own way in the world.  It was odd for her to ask her mother for advice and even more so, for advice on matters of the heart.

 

 Pulling a clean sheet of parchment from a nearby stack, she prepared to write her back, but only managed two words, _Dear Rose_ , before her thoughts drifted to a time, not so long ago when she had the same questions and wished for the same answers.  

 

* ~ * ~ *

 

Every February the first, a notice would post on the bulletin board in the house common rooms announcing the annual Valentine’s Day events.  A throng of giggling girls would immediately pounce on the news and the buzzing wouldn’t stop for the following fourteen days.

 

The usual Muggle traditions of giving cards and candy hearts were also observed, with some magical twists.  The cards usually came via owl and the candy hearts with the quaint phrases were replaced by small cupid shaped candies that actually had wings and a tiny bow and arrow that fluttered in to the intended recipient before transforming back to a sweet chocolate or fruit flavored confection.  

 

However, the main event, the pièce de resistance, was the flower distribution.  Beginning on the first, any student could see the Head Boy or Head Girl and place their order for a special Valentine floral delivery, complete with heart shaped notes.  This event had rules, or rather insinuations, built into the delivery and, specifically, the color of the flowers.  

 

A white flower represented friendship, gratitude or a simple acknowledgement of the person.  The stakes went up when the color changed to pink which indicated a bit more than just friendship.  You really fancied someone if you gave them a pink flower or they were a very close friend.  Finally, the color or passion, of romance, a red flower was presented to those you loved.  The brave few would actually sign their names to the attached note card, but many times the deliveries were anonymous, usually from the male gender, but often from the ladies as well.

 

The change in colors also demonstrated the change in attitudes and in the maturity levels of the students.  It was rare to see a red flower being delivered to a first year, but often a dozen of the darkest could be placed in the lap of a lucky seventh year girl.  Speculation was that the Head Boys and Head Girls had started this tradition years earlier.  Mainly because of the difficulty of getting out to actually shop for this all too important holiday when it involved that special someone, who is most cases was another sixth or seventh year student.  

 

It was always fun to see the difference in the genders and years.  Almost every girl recognized the importance of giving and, especially, of receiving flowers on this holiday.  Most younger boys couldn’t care less, but very often got their first lessons in young love from watching the older students, well, the older male students who at about the age of sixteen began to realize the rewards of treating a girl to something special.

 

Hermione drifted back to her first year at Hogwarts, sitting in the Common Room doing homework when the Head Girl posted the rosy colored parchment on the board and her annoyance at being distracted by the mass of fifth, sixth and seventh year girls that gathered around.  

 

“How many are you going to order?” one older girl asked her friend.

 

“I’m not sure, but I’d better get a whole bouquet of red ones or Niles won’t be getting his anytime soon.”

 

They giggled and Hermione squinted.  _Getting his what?_   She thought to herself, still too young to appreciate the desires of a seventeen year old boy.  Soon, the function of this tradition was explained to all the younger students in the room and most girls walked around with a smile on their face the rest of the evening.  For to them, visions of romance danced within their heads – delusions of naïve amorous gestures that might come from that boy who had caught their eye.  The boys reacted as boys would – half fell silent, embarrassed, either at the prospect of wanting to do something, but knowing they would be ridiculed or wishing they had someone to feel embarrassed about.  The other half grew in volume, boasting of the stupidity of the event, laughing away their immaturity in their own pre-pubescent custom.

 

After the mass of people had dissipated, Hermione casually set her book down and walked over to read the notice for herself.  It sounded interesting and she decided to order her first flowers.  Come Valentine’s Day, each of her professors, well, except for Professor Snape, received a lovely white flower from her with a note of thanks.  Then, of course, her two new best friends, Harry and Ron, each received one as well.  The card simply read

_Happy Valentine’s Day_

_Hermione_   

On the receiving end, she got two from her roommates.  They were lovely and she thanked them, laying them next to her bed until they withered two days later.  Even now, twenty five years later, Hermione still recalled how much she had wished for a flower from a certain boy and how her Rose now wished for the same.

 

Her quill finally began to transcribe her thoughts.

 

_Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, darling.  I’m glad you received Daddy’s flower.  You’ll always be our most beautiful Rose._

_I don’t believe I ever told you this.  Do you know why we named you as we did?  It was all due to another Valentine’s Day many years before you came along._  

_You see, just like you, I had my eye on a boy when I was at Hogwarts, but we were young and he didn’t return my gestures.  He was pure-blood and I thought the same thing as you, that my blood status meant he’d never want to be friends with me._   

Hermione’s thoughts drifted once more, but a soft pop drew her back to the present.

 

“‘Mione.  I’m home.”

 

She smiled as Ron entered the kitchen, anxious to tell him about their daughter’s letter.

 

“Daddy!”  Once more the stampede of little feet filled the hall and within seconds their boy was leaping into Ron’s arms.

 

“Hey there little man!  How was your day?”  He picked him up, ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“All the girls at school were being weird.”

 

“Weird, huh?”  Ron winked at her as he set their son back on his feet.

 

“Beatrice Langston tried to kiss me!”

 

Hermione met Ron’s eyes, noticing how they both failed miserably to suppress a smile.  She was a little bewildered though.

 

“Hugo, you didn’t tell Mummy that a girl tried to kiss you.  I asked you about your day and you didn’t say a thing.”

 

“It’s embarrassing, Mum!”  Hugo ducked his head, trying to hide behind his father’s leg.

 

“Yeah, Mum,” Ron echoed.  “Yuck.  Boys don’t like to talk about that kind of stuff.  Hey, mate, listen I have a surprise for you.”

 

“We’re making the boat, right?”

 

“Actually, no, I have a different surprise.”

 

“Really?  What?”  Hugo’s face brightened.

 

“Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny have invited you to sleep over tonight.”

 

Hermione interjected.  “They did?” 

 

Ron knelt down in front of Hugo.  “Yeah.  Uncle Harry has a new broom and he wants someone to help him test it.  What do you think?”

 

“We’ll still do the boat?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Yea!  Can I go?”  He looked expectantly at his father.

 

Again, Hermione’s voice interrupted.  “ _After_ you finish your homework.”  Hermione hated being the strict one, but Ron would agree with her and she knew it.

 

“Aw, Mum.”

 

“Don’t argue with your mother.”  Ron smiled at her, but this was no ordinary smile.  This came accompanied by a twinkle in his eye and Hermione watched him intently as he finished his sentence.  “Finish your homework and then get your pajamas and toothbrush out and pack your bag.”

 

Hugo took off in retreat to do as ordered, Hermione knowing with certainty that the bag would be packed long before the homework was completed.

 

Ron walked over and placed a loving kiss on her cheek.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

 

He wasn’t getting away this easy and, with both hands, she gripped his jaw, now slightly stubby with the all too familiar five o’clock shadow.  “Thank you for the roses.  They’re beautiful.”  

 

She kissed him, chaste, simple and full of affection.

 

“Not as beautiful as my lovely wife.”  He smiled, returning the kiss as he bent over the table.

 

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

 

“Hope so,“ he replied with a wink.

 

“Speaking of…”  Hermione lifted the letter, not revealing the contents, but waving it for his attention.  “Your daughter received your flower.  She said to tell you she loves you and Happy Valentine’s.”

 

“Good.  What else did the letter say?”  He reached to take it, but Hermione drew it toward her chest.

 

“Ah, not this time.  This was a letter for her Mum.  We have affairs of the heart to discuss.”

 

“Girl talk, huh?  Alright, well, I’ll just go help Hugo get packed…and finish his homework,” he added dryly, bending back down and whispering in her ear.  “But, tonight it’s just you and me.  A little Valentine’s celebration.”

 

The tiny shiver that erupted on her skin confirmed her suspicions that she hadn’t been imagining that twinkle in his eye.  Parts of her that had fallen dormant as she went about her daily duties, sprang to life, tingling with anticipation.

 

Still, she had a letter to finish and let out a deep sigh as Ron retreated toward the bedrooms, reviewing her last sentence.

 

  _You see, just like you, I had my eye on a boy when I was at Hogwarts, but we were young and he didn’t return my gestures.  He was pure-blood and I thought the same thing as you, that my blood status meant he’d never want to be friends with me._

_For three years I watched and waited, sending him a white flower our second year.  You see he had saved us all riding his knight in the big chess game and after that, I always considered him my white knight.  He never reciprocated, but we were becoming friends.  Third year, I sent him pink.  Still nothing._

_Our fourth year…_

Hermione’s thoughts turned inward again as she recalled that tumultuous time.  

After the fiasco of fourth year, known today in their household as the ‘Krum Wars,’ neither she nor Ron were in any mood to send any kind of warm greeting to the other.  However, that nagging voice in the back of her head urged her to do something, an undeserving olive branch of sorts and she sent Ron two white flowers for Valentine’s Day.  And, with delight, she finally received one back:  White, the symbol of friendship and a simple note, ‘Your friend, Ron.’

 

That was the start of it.  Fifth year things began to change between them.

 

 ~ * ~ * ~  

 

How Ron snuck up on her she didn’t know, but his aroma drifted across her cheek, his warm hand brushing the hair off of her shoulder and she sucked in a breath as she returned from her daydream.

 

“Our fourth year…what?”  He was reading her letter!

 

“Ronald!”

 

“What are you telling our daughter?  You had better not be spilling the beans on what an arse I was that year.  It won’t do well for our daughter to think of me as a complete birk.  I need to keep some level of awe inspiring mystery for her.  How do you expect me to keep the boys away!”

 

Hermione turned her head in a somewhat disapproving glare.  “That’s exactly why she’s writing.  She doesn’t want to keep the boys away.”

 

“What?”

 

“She sent a boy a white flower and he tossed it in the bin.”

 

“Who’s the git?”

 

“He’s not a git, he’s just an immature boy – similar to one I remember from some years ago.”

 

“Oh, sure, throw it back in my face again.  Hey, I came around, didn’t I?”  He headed to the fridge, pulling out a butterbeer.  “Want one?”

 

“No, thanks.  She’s just confused.  This boy that she likes, I guess he’s more than half and she thinks that he’ll somehow dislike her for being half-blood.”

 

Finishing a sip, he frowned.  “What?  Are we back to this shite again?”

 

“Ron, not so loud.”

 

“Sorry.  I just thought that by now we’d stop hearing about this stuff.  Who’s still pure-blood anyway?  Not even Malfoy’s little brat can claim that anymore.”  He took another swig.

 

“He’s not a brat.  Rose says he’s very nice actually.  Seems Draco’s wife straightened him out a bit.”  She paused, looking back at the letter.  “Oh, my goodness.  You don’t…you don’t think that…”

 

“That what, Hermione?”

 

“You don’t think that the boy she’s talking about is Scorpius Malfoy, do you?”

 

“Our Rose?  Nah.  She’s too smart to fall for him.  Besides, after all the lectures I gave her…”

 

“Yeah, all those ridiculous notions you put in her head about distrusting the Slytherins.  Things have changed.  I don’t want her having preconceived notions about the students based on their Houses.  It’s prejudicial!  She can decide on her own friends, regardless of their House.  Besides, what would your nephew think if he heard you say that?”

 

“Well, maybe not all of Slytherin is bad.”  Ron sat down in the chair, looking a bit put out.  “So, what are you going to tell her?”

 

“Actually, I was sharing the story of how she got her name.”

 

He smiled, but this one was a full-out toothy grin and he chuckled.  “Yeah, she’ll like that.”

 

“Now, will you please leave me be so I can finish this letter and then we can get Hugo off to Harry and Ginny’s and then…” she wagged her eyebrows “we can start our own little celebration.”

 

Ron stood up and performed some elaborate bow with a flourished wave of his hand.  “Whatever my lady requests!”  He took three long strides toward the hall and bellowed.  “I hope that homework is finished, or no trip to Uncle Harry’s.”

 

Hermione reviewed her letter again.

 

  _Our fourth year we had the Yule Ball and even though I liked this boy so much and I wanted to go with him, he didn’t ask me.  We got in a terrible fight when he got jealous of the other boy that did take me._

_So, you see, Rose, even though it appeared he didn’t care, in actuality, he really did.  During our fifth year he sent me two white ones and then in sixth he got a girlfriend.  I was so jealous and so hurt at seeing this other girl that I sent myself two dozen red roses just to spite him!_ _It took all my savings!_

_But, you know what, it didn’t really help.  I didn’t feel any better and neither did he.  The point is, sweetheart, that things will happen as they happen.  When the time is right, the pieces will fall into place.  You can’t rush it along.  If you haven’t figured it out, the boy was your Daddy._  

_Just after the_ _Battle_ _of Hogwarts, I told your Daddy that he was my brave knight.  Oh, I loved him so much, but I just couldn’t tell him yet.  After your Daddy and Uncle Harry and I helped to rebuild Hogwarts, I went back to school to finish my last year and you know what?  On Valentine’s Day I got the most beautiful bouquet of white roses.  Your Daddy sent them to me with a note that said more than I could have ever hoped for._

_He said…’To my dearest friend, from your white knight.  I love you.’  That was the first time he told me he loved me.  After that, I started calling your Daddy ‘Sir Rose’ for he would surprise me all the time with beautiful flowers._

_On the day we had you, Daddy was just giddy with excitement and we hadn’t decided on a name yet.  Your Daddy bought me a dozen red roses and I asked him why they were red and not white as usual._   

“Alright, are we ready to go?” Ron’s voiced boomed from the hallway, once again distracting her from her writing.

 

“I’m almost done.  Let me finish this letter.”  Ron reappeared, a red and navy rucksack flung over his shoulder and Hugo marching beside.

 

“We’ll be late.  I told Harry we’d be there by six.”  He rested his hand on their son’s shoulder.  “Can’t you finish the letter later?  Rose isn’t going to get it tonight, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, Mum.  She’s probably reading some giant book by now.”  His expression so mimicked his father and was just as adorable.  She had to smile at his sweet hearted annoyance.

 

“I’m almost done.”  She scribbled out the last line and signed it.

 

Carefully, she folded it, leaving it on the table and grabbed her cloak.  “Wait a minute.”  She reached out toward her young son.  “Homework?”

 

“Oops.”  Hugo turned and ran back down the hall.  Hermione buttoned her cloak and a moment later his hopeful face turned up to her as he handed over the papers.

 

She scanned it quickly.  “Hugo, how do you spell your name?  I don’t think it’s Hugo Wealyes.”

 

“He’ll fix it tomorrow.  It’s the weekend.”  Ron sighed and she felt all her resolve turn to complete mush when she looked into his face.  The intensity of that blue gaze told her that homework was the last thing on his mind, her flipping stomach reminding her that she had to agree.

 

“Fine.  Just correct it before you turn it in.”

 

Within minutes they stepped out of the Floo at Harry and Ginny’s house.  Hugo took off at full tilt.  

 

“Hugo, don’t run,” she reprimanded.  He turned and grinned, slowing his pace until he was out of view and then she heard his feet resume their quickened pace.  Ron followed him, Ginny’s welcoming voice floating in from the kitchen.

 

Hermione brushed the remaining soot from her robes before hearing the shuffle on the steps.

 

“Hey, Hermione.”  Harry jogged down the stairs.

 

“Hi, Harry.”  He walked over and planted a kiss on her cheek.

 

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, looking a bit leery.  “Ron didn’t come up with this idea and push you into it, did he?”

 

“Ron?  Nah.  We just thought it would nice to see our nephew.  Besides, Lily could use some company.  With the boys both gone to Hogwarts, I think she gets a little lonely.”

 

“I think they can get lonely, even when they’re _at_ Hogwarts.  Rose sent a letter today and she was all ruffled over the Valentine’s Day activities.”

 

Harry’s eyes lit up in recognition.  “Ah, yes.  Ginny still gripes to this day how she never received any flowers because I was off ‘saving the world.’”  He air quoted his statement.  “I’ve been trying to make it up to her ever since.”

 

“Harry.”  His eyes turned wide, realizing he’d been caught by the object of his discussion.

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“I didn’t gripe about it.”  Harry wiggled his eyebrows at Hermione, rolling his eyes with a smile that only she could see before turning to face his wife, along with Ron, Hugo and Lily in the doorway.

 

Ginny was drying her hands on her apron.  “Mummy, Aunt Ginny is making biscuits!”

 

“Mmm.  Sounds yummy.”  Hermione replied, still watching Ginny’s tipped head studying her husband.

 

“I was just saying how the one year that I actually had a boyfriend – well, sort of – he wasn’t around to send any flowers.”  Ginny walked into the room as if enroute to give Hermione a hug, but Harry grabbed her around the waist, and dipped her back.  

 

“I’m around now and I bought you lots of flowers.”  Harry looked exceedingly playful and Hermione squeezed her lips to hold back the smile.

 

“Ooo, yuk.  Uncle Harry!  Do you have to do that kind of stuff?”  Hugo turned to march back to the kitchen.

 

Lily smiled.  “I think it’s sweet.”  She pivoted around and followed Hugo, both probably drawn to the luscious smell of chocolate and nuts wafting in from the adjacent room.

 

Ginny grinned, despite her best effort to appear annoyed as Harry brought her back to vertical, his arms still wrapped around her waist.

 

“Looks like you two need a little alone time.  Perhaps this isn’t the best night to leave you with an extra child.”  Hermione interjected.

 

Ron suddenly clicked into high gear, spinning Hermione around by the shoulders and pushing her toward the Floo.  “Hugo will keep Lily busy and they’ll have plenty of alone time.  Now, come on.”

 

“Ronald, don’t push.”

 

He leaned into toward her ear.  “I want to get home.  They’ll be fine.  Please?”

 

Hermione had no choice but to step into the Floo, turning to see Harry and Ginny lip-locked as Ron handed her the powder.  “Ginny, remind him to brush his teeth after he eats those biscuits.”

 

Ginny waved in acknowledgement, her lips still occupied by a rather amorous looking man.  Ron cocked an eyebrow and she threw the powder, arriving back in her home in a few seconds.

 

She immediately stepped out, knowing Ron would be directly behind and removed her cloak, performing a quick Tergeo to clean off the soot and then one on herself to make sure none remained in her hair or on her face.  Ron stepped out a second later and she turned to face him.

 

“I’d better not find out that you pushed Harry into taking…” the argument was instantaneously muffled by a warm pair of lips and a set of very strong arms that lifted her off her feet.  The one disadvantage to arguing with a six foot two inch husband was the loss of leverage, something he was taking advantage of at the moment, his mouth going to work on her own.

 

Still holding her aloft, he walked backwards, bumping the sofa table as he moved further into their living room.  Peripherally, she noticed another large bouquet of flowers wobbling slightly on the table and was about to ask where they came from.  But, any questions or argument poised to escape her throat dissipated into a pool of chills and tingles that only intensified as his lips left her mouth and latched onto her neck.

 

She barely registered the carpet touching her feet again before Ron’s hands had gripped the hem of her jumper and stripped it up, her arms moving willingly as he drew it over her head.  Those warm lips, that had withdrawn only long enough for the garment to clear her face, were attacking again and she could feel him kicking off his shoes and frantically unbuttoning his oxford. 

“Ronald, what has gotten in to y…” Again his lips demanded attention as they swallowed hers, his tongue pushing past her lips and fingertips caressing her scalp as he held her close. 

She placed a hand on his chest to push back, only hoping to get a brief moment of air and realized her palm was resting on a very bare nipple, dusted with soft red-hair.  His lips moved back to her pulse point, finally freeing her mouth to speak. 

“What’s the rush, love?” 

He kept kissing and nibbling her neck, his words scattered in between.  “It’s not my fault that you smell so good.  Mmm.  You taste even better.” 

His hands were everywhere, her back, her arms, neck and chest.  Finally fingertips grazed her thighs and she felt him bunch up her skirt, one hand stroking over her bum with a gentle squeeze before slipping inside of her knickers. 

Hermione had lost the urge to fight it anymore.  His fingertips were like icy fire on her skin, pushing any coherent thought from her brain. The tingle of his touch and the sudden contraction of muscles between her legs placed Hermione in the same lust-filled mood. 

Suddenly, it felt that time was of the essence as her hands began to fumble with the buckle on his belt.  She tried to sit on the sofa, but obviously Ron had other thoughts as he pulled her back up and deepened the intensity of his kiss, his tongue darting into her ear, then his teeth nibbling her lobe, hands returning to grip massive bundles of her brown hair as he held her in place, ravishing her neck to the point of delirium. 

She now only had one goal and worked quickly, pushing his trousers and boxers over his hips in one swift push.  He stepped frantically, assisting gravity to push the fabric down until it pooled at his feet and he stepped out, the buckle hitting a nearby ottoman with a rattle as he kicked it free. 

Wearing nothing but an open oxford, he lifted her again and turned, sitting down on the sofa and quickly reached under her skirt to pull her knickers down.  She stood breathless, panting in a white lace bra and skirt, her hair falling wildly out of its clip and his eyes blazing blue with want into hers as she reached for the zipper on her skirt. 

“Leave it, “ he said with insatiable speed and pushed the skirt up over her hips, baring all for him to see.  

Hermione’s eyes grew wide at his cock - ramrod straight and demanding as he licked his lips.  She knew what he wanted, what they both wanted as he pulled her toward him.  She straddled his lap, feeling his smooth tip pushing against her, seeking the moisture that would tell him she was ready. 

“Wait.”  She looked frantically for her wand, unable to recall where she had put it or thrown it or perhaps she didn’t own one anymore.  Everything was moving so fast, but still there was a charm that was needed, wasn’t there?  Some little voice reminded her that it wasn’t the best time of the month to be doing this unprotected. 

“No,” was all he said and gripped her hips, slowly penetrating her, insisting she accept him.  

The sensation took her breath away.  So full, so deep, it overpowered her ability to think.  She tried to remember what she was going to say, but now he was moving inside of her and kissing her sternum, gripping her shoulders and forcing her down even deeper until she cried out from the seizure hitting her cervix. 

“Ron…oh…um, the charm.” 

“Skip it.” 

“But…but, I’m not on the potion anymore.  We could end up…”  She panted to match his grunts as he pistoned his hips up into her. 

“I want another baby.” 

“You…” She swallowed, still breathless “…want another baby?” 

“Yeah.”  

Suddenly he stopped, their bodies still joined deeply, both panting.  Only the sound of their labored breaths filled the moment.  “If you don’t want one, we can do the charm.” 

Her mind still wracked with passion, she struggled to think, her hips instinctively wriggling against him, begging for him to continue what he had started.  Then slowly, he resumed, gripping her waist and lifting her off him and then back down gentle and smooth, his eyes still on hers, deep and full of such love that she could barely speak. 

“Oh…” she called out at the pressure.  “Y-you really want another?  Rose will be twelve years older.” 

Again, he lifted her nearly all the way off and then torturously brought her back down, filling her with fire and pressure, forcing her to feel every inch as she gasped and gripped his hair. 

“Oh, Ron.” 

“Will you give me another baby, Hermione?”  Cupping her cheeks, he threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling her down for a deep kiss.  “I love you so much and I love our family.  We don’t have that many years left.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Then let me finish this without the charm.  We’ve got all night.  I want to try…several times if possible.” 

His words were almost more intense than the throbbing cock buried within her.  A playful thought crossed her mind and she grinned.  

“You naughty boy.  You’re just trying to coax me into a shagfest.”  She smiled full out, but his face turned dead serious.  

Without words, and keeping himself buried with her, he rolled her to the sofa, pressing her back and hips into the cushions. 

“I’m serious, love.  I want to make another baby.”  

As if to emphasize his point, he pumped her again, but stilled once more, Hermione squeezing her pelvic muscles in reply. 

The sincerity in his eyes filled her with such joy, her chest tightened and she felt the well of tears behind her eyes.  The euphoria was like a slap in the face, the realization that she wanted a baby just as much as him – some hidden desire that she had never thought he’d fulfill and yet here it was for the taking.

“Yes.  Yes, Ron.  Let’s try.” 

He smiled, more in his eyes than his mouth, but it was full of happiness, nearly matching the joy that swelled in her heart.  His lips found hers again and he returned to his slow and steady strokes.  In and out, pushing deeper and deeper with each thrust and then suddenly, the spark hit.  The tingle in her thighs, the rush through her pelvis and she tried to warn him, it was like a slow on-coming freight train about to hit.  “Harder!” 

He tripled his speed, giving it his all, their bodies slapping together as she finally peaked, unable to remain silent and knowing the house was empty.  She screamed out in ecstasy.  

Her muscles contracted and throbbed as he continued to pummel her, his own breath coming shorter and shorter and finally he pushed and stilled, the grunts coming in waves as he spilled into her, his seed searching out its target. 

She sucked in a breath, her legs slowly losing all strength, falling off the cushion in defeat.  His head dropped, their sweaty skin tickling between them as he panted and kissed her shoulder.  

“Oh…God, ‘Mione.”  He let out one last shudder, his body drained.  

Hermione dragged a palm over her sweaty face, pushing the sticky curls from her face as her head fell to the side.  There it sat.  A huge bouquet of flowers.  They were beautiful in shades of yellow, pink and white.

 

“Ron?”

 

“Hmm?” he replied, his head still pressed against her shoulder.

 

“Where did the flowers come from?”

 

He looked over at the table and then back at her, his smile returning along with the familiar blue sparkle in his eyes.  “Do you like them?”

 

“They’re beautiful.  What are they?”

 

“Chrysanthemums.  Do you want to know why they’re here?”

 

She nodded, returning his grin, dying to know what the secret was and exactly what he found so amusing.

 

“Well…I thought we’d get a jump on the names this time.  I like Christopher or Christian or maybe Christina.  What do you think?  We have a Rose and you can forget Petunia…that’s just out of the question so…”

 

“A rose by another other name would smell as sweet.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.  It just sounds like you’re turning our family into a florist.”

 

“Well…if you give me a few minutes we can do some more planting.”

 

~*~*~*

  

Monday morning, Rose received an owl.  She hurriedly opened the letter, thrilled to see her mother’s handwriting and eagerly looking for some advice.

 

She turned to ensure that the contents would remain private, the parchment held firm in her hand and read with wide-eyed hope.  She smiled more often than not, already feeling better just hearing about how her dad had been just the same as all the silly boys in her class.  It was comforting to know that her life wasn’t so unusual after all.

 

Reaching the bottom, she had to stifle a giggle when she read about her daddy and his roses.

 

_On the day we had you, Daddy was just giddy with excitement and we hadn’t decided on a name yet.  Your Daddy bought me a dozen red roses and I asked him why they were red and not white as usual.  He said that was because his little Rose had red hair.  And so you were named._

_So, don’t worry about those boys.  They’ll come around and the one that truly loves you won’t care if you’re Muggle or not._   

It was signed, _Love, Mum_.  

 

But, then just below was an extra note

 

_P.S.  Keep sending those flowers and one day you’ll have a whole garden!_


End file.
